


Operation: Anticupid

by Kryptaria



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:25:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because Clint carries a bow doesn't make him Cupid. But sometimes, even an assassin gets sick of watching the lovesick pining. At that point, it's time to take matters into his own hands. And how could Tony resist helping? He's a helpful sort of guy, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation: Anticupid

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt fic, from Anonymous: Hi, there! Prompt, if you'd be so kind: The Avengers know that Steve and Bucky are in love with each other but they've also realised those two won't do a thing about it without a little help... so they decide to flirt with Bucky to get a reaction from Cap. Hilarity and adorableness ensues.
> 
> Thanks to my foxy betas, rayvanfox and zephyrfox, for the read-through. Enjoy!
> 
> ~~~

There were certain things Tony Stark was prepared to do for world peace. Housing a dysfunctional band of misfits, science experiments, and mythical beings was actually one of the easier ones. He liked problems that could be solved by throwing money at them — or, well, at a couple of discreet architects under JARVIS’ supervision, but whatever. The fact that Tony got three new patents out of it (a super-strong polymer-based replacement for concrete, nanotech-enhanced paint film that could stretch instead of flaking and peeling when Hulk-punched, and a semi-sentient coffee pot) was just a bonus.

So Avengers Tower was a triumph, even with the misplaced apostrophe incident. Thankfully, Pepper pointed that one out before the press got wind of it, and Tony had picked three in the morning as the perfect time to fly out there and scoot the _s_ over. It’d leave a weird gap between _Avengers_ and _Tower_ , but who the fuck cared?

In hands-free flight mode, the suit wasn’t exactly great at stable hovering, so he ended up distracted by ways to optimize the boot-repulsors while he moved the lit-up letter. By the time he was done, almost two hours had passed, his calves had locked up from fighting his boots, and... Had he turned the _s_ upside-down?

Aw, crap. How was he supposed to tell?

He flew back about twenty meters, but it looked like an _s_... and yeah, it was upside-down, because the end that was now on the bottom was covered with pigeon-shit. And he just _knew_ that TMZ or someone would end up posting that all over. Or, worse, the political wackos would work it into their New World Order theory, as if the whole HYDRA/S.H.I.E.L.D. debacle didn’t give them enough ammo?

Fuck it. It was late, and he was tired. And bored. Maybe he could get Clint to take the window-washer rig down and flip the _s_ right-side-up. Clint liked heights.

He got proof positive, in fact, just five minutes later, when he flew into the quinjet hangar. Clint was perched under the ceiling like some insane crow, legs dangling over the edge of a catwalk forty feet up in the air. Tony landed next to him with a metallic _clunk_. There was nothing subtle about the suit.

“Shh,” Clint hissed, waving at Tony as if to shoo him away.

As if? This was still _his_ tower, even if his name wasn’t on the side anymore. A quick command opened the armor, and Tony stepped out much more silently, thanks to the ratty old Converse he couldn’t remember putting on. He sat down next to Clint and looked over the edge. If he’d ever had a fear of heights, flying in the suit had cured it.

“What’re we —”

Clint smacked his arm with another, “Shh!” Then he nodded towards the far corner, where the temporary maintenance area was set up.

Without the suit’s optics, Tony had to narrow his eyes and concentrate to see... _Oh_. He rolled his eyes as he picked out Steve Rogers and the Tower’s latest resident, the Winter I-swear-he’s-not-gonna-kill-anyone Soldier. They were sitting opposite one another in the darkness, faces illuminated by the blue glow of a holodisplay. It looked like they were going over quinjet specs, which could be useful — more backup pilots were always a good thing — or absolutely fucking terrible, if Barnes reverted to being HYDRA’s pet WMD.

“Fucking idiots,” Clint said.

Tony blinked. “Well, it’s a security violation probably, since —”

Clint turned and gave Tony the _you’re an idiot, too_ look, the one that Tony couldn’t counter with discussions of PhD’s and IQ and patents. How the hell an ex-carny-turned-sniper could make Tony feel about ten and inadequate was a mystery he had yet to solve.

“Okay. Fine. What am I missing, Feathers?” Tony asked, wincing at the weak comeback.

Clint smirked and nodded at the pair of anachronisms that were probably breaking the holodisplay’s controls with their super-soldier strength. “Body language. Look at them.”

“They’re... sitting? Tired? Help me out here.”

“This is why Pepper’s still Ms. Potts and not Mrs. Stark. Or why _you’re_ not Mr. Potts.”

“Hey. I asked Pepper to marry me, or so she claims. I might’ve been drunk —”

“They’re in love.”

Tony snapped his mouth shut.

Clint raised his eyebrows.

“But they’re both... I mean, they _can’t_ be gay. They’re —”

“If you say old, I’ll push you off this catwalk.”

Tony glanced sidelong at the pair of — yes, _old_ — super-soldiers far across the hangar. Maybe the Soviet Terminator, okay. Nobody knew what the hell he’d been doing for the last seventy-something years when he wasn’t busy killing people. But Captain America, _gay?_

“I don’t even know if Steve knows what sex is,” Tony finally said.

“Just because he doesn’t get drunk and strip for fun —”

“Technically, he _can’t_ get drunk —”

“— doesn’t mean he’s asexual. He’s just subtle. Besides, sex doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with _love_.”

Again, Tony shut up, fully aware that he was the least qualified person on the planet to discuss the L-word. And not _lesbian_ , either. StarkIndustries had always had an open benefits package for domestic partners, since long before the government got dragged into the modern age.

It took him a few minutes of staring and remembering to think... maybe? Steve was always hovering around Barnes like a hen around her last remaining chick, but Steve was _everyone’s_ caretaker. God help them all if the flu hit the Tower. Steve would be flitting from bed to bed, dispensing chicken soup and tea and toast, and Tony would have to quarantine himself in his lab to avoid being mothered.

If Cap was more solicitous about Barnes... well, no kidding. Barnes was his best friend from a million years ago. _And_ he was a brainwashed assassin with a cybernetic arm that made Tony’s fingers twitch, though he had yet to do more than scan it for trackers and kill switches, thanks to the cyborg’s understandable fear of playing lab rat. But was that _love_ or common sense?

“You’re all idiots,” Clint finally said, giving Tony a sad look. “Pepper’s a saint for putting up with you.”

Tony considered that, and he finally had to nod. “Well, yeah. So if you’ll excuse me, I should go apologize for being like three hours late to bed. Try not to fall,” he said, getting to his feet. He went to the suit, turned around, and stepped backwards into it. Metal curled around his body, protective and secure, and once the mask dropped down, the HUD lit up, feeding him data.

And giving him a close-up of Clint’s raised middle finger.

“Pigeon shit,” Tony muttered, jumping off the catwalk as he fired up the repulsors. He did a fly-by of the super-soldiers, noting the way Steve had a hand on his shield, ready to raise it between Tony and Barnes — shielding _Barnes_ , not the other way around, as if he’d totally forgotten which of them had flown a nuke through a portal into another dimension or something.

Maybe there was something to Clint’s eighth-grade _they’re in love_ declaration after all.

 

~~~

 

The next morning, Tony couldn’t help but keep a closer eye on the two resident relics over breakfast. They sat at the kitchen island, side-by-side, eating waffles and not talking. Were they playing footsie? There was no way Tony could subtly check — not from his station near the prototype coffee pot, anyway. He had it brewing one cup at a time so he could maximize both the quality sampling rate and his caffeine intake.

As soon as Clint walked in, Tony said, “C’mere, Legolas. Does this taste more like Kona or Blue Mountain?” He held out his latest coffee mug, one of a line that he’d set up so he didn’t cross-contaminate his samples.

Clint snatched it away, but instead of lurking next to the new coffee pot, he circled the island and plopped down right next to Barnes. “Hey,” he said, giving Barnes the sort of smile that usually required at least four cups of coffee.

Barnes turned and gave Clint a slightly baffled look, two blinks, and a grunted, “Morning.”

He’d barely started to turn back to his waffles when Clint said, “I need to hit the range this morning. You used to use an M1941?”

“Yeah.” This time, the look was interested. “Why?”

“We’ve got one, only it’s a little” — Clint made a twitchy motion with the hand not holding the coffee cup — “fiddly. Think you can give me some pointers?”

Instead of answering, Barnes looked to Steve, who grinned and said, “Could be fun. You were the best shot we had, in the Commandos.”

Smooth as silk, Clint asked, “Don’t you have that report to put together for the mayor?”

Steve’s grin faded into confusion. “Uh, yeah —”

“You do that. I’ll take care of him,” Clint said, putting a hand on Barnes’ left shoulder. Tony ignored the spike of jealousy at that, because Steve kept putting himself in the way every time Tony got close to the arm.

“Uh,” Steve repeated eloquently. “Okay.”

Clint beamed at them. “You almost done?” he asked, looking at Barnes’ mostly empty plate.

Two stabs with the fork, and the last of the waffle disappeared into Barnes’ mouth. He chewed a couple of times, swallowed, and then picked up his plate. “Yeah —”

“Tony, can you get that?” Clint asked, taking the plate away so he could slide it across the island. “You’re closer to the dishwasher.”

“Sure,” Tony said suspiciously. What the _hell_ was Clint doing?

“Thanks.” Clint dropped off his stool and touched Barnes’ metal arm again. “I’ve heard _a lot_ about you, y’know. Like Steve says, best shot in the Commandos.” It came out in a low voice that was almost a purr, as if Clint were _flirting_ with Barnes.

What the _hell?_

Tony shot a look at the coffee maker, wondering if someone had slipped an aphrodisiac into the bean hopper or put a hormone-boosting curse on it. (Sadly, ever since the Avengers Initiative had taken over his life, he’d learned that either one was possible.)

But it was the dumbfounded expression on Steve’s face that finally jolted Tony’s brain into gear. Steve was _jealous_ , and he sucked at hiding it. He stared after Barnes and Clint, looking so much like a kicked puppy that Tony almost had the urge to hug him and give him a cookie.

He had to turn his back to hide his sudden grin of admiration. Damn, but Clint was one clever little shit.

And Tony was _not_ going to be out-clevered by an ex-carny with feathery tendencies and an unhealthy obsession with arrows. Oh, hell no. He swigged back his coffee, ignoring the way it scorched his tongue, and then set the machine to brew a full pot. This was going to take both planning _and_ caffeine.

 

~~~

 

Fortunately, Tony had one thing on his side that Clint didn’t: an excess of personality. No one even blinked twice when Tony swanned up into the living room, to where Barnes and Clint were sitting side-by-side playing a primitive, non-virtual reality shooting game, and announced, “Imperious Leader! Put down the controller. Play-time’s over.”

That got him equally baffled looks from Clint and Barnes.

“Cylon? Battlestar — Oh, for God’s sake,” Tony said, feeling a twinge of despair. He pointed at Barnes, then turned it into a beckoning motion. “C’mon, sailor. It’s time someone took you out on the town. Or at least shopping. We’re all sick of seeing you in Cap’s leftovers.”

Barnes looked down at his borrowed clothes. He would’ve been the epitome of boring, if not for the gorgeous tech stuck to his left side and the admittedly pretty blue eyes. And the mouth. Tony was centered enough on the Kinsey scale to be able to appreciate the curve of that upper lip and the way the lower lip pouted...

And he was staring, but that was cool. All in line with the plan, in fact. So he turned up the brightness of his grin by a couple of notches and put an overtly flirtatious note in his voice, saying, “Here, kitty, kitty. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Clint choked out, “Uh, Stark, we’re —”

“Boring. _So_ boring. And _you_ , handsome, are a fashion nightmare,” Tony told Barnes, laying it on thick mostly because Barnes still had a baffled look that was a little too adorable on a ninety-year-old cybernetic assassin. Barnes didn’t exactly do _subtle_.

And because that noise Tony heard coming from by the bar was most likely Steve. Bruce spent his afternoons in the lab, Natasha was probably out overthrowing the government or rescuing kittens, and Rhodey and Pepper both had day jobs.

Sure enough, Barnes put down the game controller and got to his feet, looking towards the bar. Tony wanted to turn and see Steve’s expression, but he’d check the video replay later. For now, he put on his most winning smile and said, “C’mon, Terminator. It’s an assassin’s job to blend in, right? Nobody’s going to run in fear from a guy wearing jeans two sizes too big and — Are you wearing a Nickelback T-shirt? Okay, no. You’re going to thank me for this later, pal.”

“For _what?_ ” Barnes asked, finding his voice as he started around the couch.

“Saving your ass. And showing it off. Those jeans are awful,” Tony said. As soon as Barnes was in reach, Tony slung an arm around his waist. Barnes was a little too tall and excessively broad-shouldered. The original designers of the super-serum apparently had a type.

Clint flopped across the couch and looked upside-down at Tony and Barnes, saying, “I want him back in time for dessert.”

“Dibs, Robin Hood.” Tony turned and threw a grin over his shoulder, making sure Steve could see it. “You’ve had him all day. Tonight, he’s mine.”

 

~~~

 

Operation Anticupid wasn’t something Tony and Clint had actually discussed. They had no plan, no mission parameters, no timeline. But hey, since when did the Avengers actually _plan_ anything? You couldn’t _plan_ for an invasion of flying robot whales, after all.

Well, not unless you were Agent Coulson. (And Tony made a mental note to track Coulson down, because the guy was _not_ going to dump this post-S.H.I.E.L.D. world in Tony’s lap and then hare off to Tahiti or something.)

Anyway, Tony wasn’t Coulson, so he had no idea how this would end, much less where to go next. God, he hoped he wasn’t actually going to have to sleep with Barnes. He’d never be able to explain it to Pepper, and that was assuming the robo-soldier didn’t break something important, like Tony’s spine.

The soft chime of fine crystal snapped Tony out of his reverie. He murmured a thanks, picked up the champagne glass, and then took a sip as he looked back at the changing room door. Hopefully Barnes wasn’t too confused by an ordinary suit. Sure, it was semi-off-the-rack, but he needed something to wear tonight. They’d already gone through the color and material selection for a full bespoke wardrobe.

Tonight, though... _Shit._ Tony emptied the glass a little too quickly and set it down so he could go for his phone. Even he needed reservations for most places. Well, some. Okay, not many at all, but Tony suspected Barnes wasn’t the French cuisine type. Steak and potatoes, more likely.

The phone rang before he had it unlocked. Startled, he looked at the screen —

And flinched inwardly, mind racing as soon as he saw the caller ID. At this hour, Pepper should’ve been wrapping up the day’s meetings and going over everything with her army of minions. If she was calling him, he was in trouble. And as his dad always said, the best defense was a two-pronged offensive of denial and bribery.

“Pepper, honey!” Tony said as he put the phone to his ear. “I was _just_ out shopping. You like those, uh, shoes with the red —”

“Tony.”

He flinched. He couldn’t help it. He’d faced flying robo-whales, gods, and the demons in his own skull, and every one of them was harmless compared to Pepper. “Sweetheart?”

“Tony, _what have you done?_ ”

“Okay, so, Pepper, you’re gonna have to narrow it down —”

“Tony,” she growled, and this was _really_ bad if she was using his name for the third time in a row. “Why did I just get a call from Steve Rogers — the _nicest_ man on the planet — asking if I could recommend a real estate agent?”

Tony felt his brows shoot up towards his not-yet-receding hairline. “Whoa. Slow down.”

“No. I will _not_ slow down. Steve wants to leave Avengers Tower, and I _know_ this is your fault.”

“Technically, Clint started it.”

_“Aha!”_

Tony winced. “Uh —”

“Started _what_ , Tony? You know something, and you’re going to tell me right this very minute, and then you’re going to fix this, because I will _not_ have you be the reason Captain America walks out on the Avengers. _What did you do?_ ”

“We’re helping,” Tony protested. “It’s, uh... Well, Cap’s in love with the Red Menace, and —”

“The _what?_ ”

“Red Menace? Barnes! Red Menace, Pepper. He was a Soviet assassin for, like, fifty years. What am I supposed to call him?”

“How about James? Or Bucky? No, not Bucky, because you’re obviously not —” She cut off and hissed in a breath, sounding like a rattlesnake about to strike. So much for a diversion. “What new idiocy is this?”

“It’s not idiocy. It’s love. Full-on Oscar-winning chick-flick unrequited love. They just need a little...”

Tony trailed off, and this time he didn’t even hear Pepper yelling at him, because the dressing room door opened, revealing his problem assassin half-dressed in too-long wool pants, two dozen pins, and the Arm of Death.

Barnes stared out at him, blue eyes wide with shock, every muscle in his serum-enhanced body tense. “What did you say?”

“I, uh...” Tony glanced at the phone, then at Barnes, wondering which of them was more dangerous. The answer was probably Pepper, but she was still at the office, and Barnes was right here, looming over him. “Pep, I’ll call you back.”

“Tony. No, Tony. Don’t you dare —” she said as he hung up before she could say _hang up on me_.

Barnes stalked towards the couch where Tony was lounging. He stared down, eyes narrowed dangerously. A flash of light warned Tony that Barnes’ metal death-hand had clenched into a fist.

“Okay, see, you’re looming,” Tony said as his brain slipped gears and disengaged, letting his mouth run on autopilot. “You’re looming, and only a certain type of guy is into _looming_. I’m betting Cap’s not one of them. I know I’m not. So maybe you can step back, and I’ll call for more champagne, and we can discuss this like... This isn’t working, is it?”

The stare never wavered. Barnes didn’t even _blink_. “Tell me,” he demanded in a chillingly soft voice. “Tell me everything.”

 

~~~

 

“This was a _stupid_ plan,” Tony said as he dropped down onto the lounge chair. It was a gorgeous, clear night, and the lights of Manhattan spread around his feet like stars reflected from a pool.

“Was not,” Clint answered without looking up from his StarkReader. The glow from the screen reflected up onto his customary bitchface and gave it a sinister cast. “Did you fuck it up?”

“No.”

Clint turned and looked back, one eyebrow raised.

“Not entirely. But it’s not my fault. Pepper got involved, and things got a little... chaotic.” Tony didn’t let himself sigh, though Clint did. Tony could hear it even over the wind.

“Tony —”

The balcony door _whooshed_ open, and they both turned. Barnes walked out, wearing the new skinny jeans that Tony had insisted on buying him, and wow, was _that_ a genius idea or what? It did things to his silhouette that were probably illegal in most states. His face was in shadow, but Tony suspected he was smiling. Or maybe smirking. Either one was an improvement over his usual worried confusion.

Then again, maybe he only smiled when he was going to kill someone. Tony hadn’t seen him in combat — not outside the sparring ring, at least, and only Cap would go toe-to-toe with him there. What a time for Tony to be between contingency plans. No Mark VII bracelets, no active implants, no suitcase suit. He _knew_ Operation Clean Slate would be the death of him. He just hadn’t expected it to be at the hands of his —

“Hey, fellas,” the probably-not-brainwashed-anymore assassin said in a low, inviting purr. He sauntered over, hips swaying, and didn’t stop until he was standing between them. Idly, he dropped his metal hand to Tony’s shoulder (and Tony _did not flinch_ , really) as he looked over at Clint and asked, “Whatcha reading?”

Clint stared up at him. Then he grinned and got to his feet, standing fearlessly just inches away from the balcony’s edge. The wind played with his hair and lifted his white T-shirt an inch, showing a strip of bare skin.  “Nothing too interesting,” he said as he tossed the StarkReader onto the other lounge chair.

“Good.” Barnes lifted his other hand and ran his fingertips up Clint’s bare arm. “You said something about dessert earlier.”

Clint grinned. “Sure did.”

“Let’s go.” Barnes turned, and Tony could just barely see his sly expression. “Coming, Tony?”

It wasn’t often that Tony was caught off-guard like this. Was Barnes playing or was he actually — did he actually _want_ —

 _The door_ , a tiny corner of Tony’s brain whispered. The automatic door hadn’t closed, which meant Barnes had intentionally overridden it. Tony stood up, glancing sidelong... Yep. Steve was sitting in an armchair right near the door, not even pretending to read the _New York Times_ as he eavesdropped.

Tony turned back to Barnes and grinned. “Love to, darling,” he said, taking Barnes’ arm. Maybe Clint’s plan hadn’t been so stupid after all.

 

~~~

 

As it turned out, Barnes wasn’t a bad guy — in some senses of the phrase — once he relaxed a little. Maybe he couldn’t get drunk, if the serum in his veins was anything like what made Rogers special, but a couple of cookies and cream floats did the trick just fine. Three cheers for a sugar high.

“‘Stupid’ is a relative term,” Clint said as they got into the private elevator, which started moving automatically. Tony was fine with sharing part of the Tower with Director Hill’s minions, but his cars lived in a private garage, and the elevator up to the Avengers levels was restricted only to the team and the cleaning robots that vacuumed and broke dishes. (Tony was still working on the algorithm for the robots to unload the dishwasher.)

“And jumping off the roof of a skyscraper doesn’t count?” Barnes shook his head. “You guys are hanging out with Steve a little too much.”

“A roof that was about to be swarmed with aliens,” Clint pointed out reasonably. “Besides, I had a grappling arrow.”

“A what?”

“Grappling arrow.” Clint leaned against the wall next to Bucky, though a careful six inches away, and held up his left hand. He turned his thumb and first two fingers into claws and pretended to stab the wall. “Clamps into almost any surface, spools out a high-test line. I was too high up to rappel down to the ground, so I ended up swinging in through a window. _That_ part sucked.”

Barnes glanced at Tony, who was also keeping his distance. It was one thing to play at flirting in front of Steve; it was something else entirely to carry through with that plan. “Got anything like that, only _not_ an arrow?” Barnes asked hopefully.

Tony’s brain had been going at full speed all evening, analyzing Barnes’ behavior, which wasn’t exactly his strong point. The switch to engineering was a relief. “For you? Yeah, sure. What’s your thing, T2? Guns, right? That could be problematic, but —”

“Any weapon. Just something more easily concealed than a bow,” Barnes said, giving Clint an apologetic shrug.

Clint shot Tony a warning look. “Yeah, my bow’s one of a kind — and staying that way.”

“Entirely. Besides, it’s a little redundant, giving Robocop here a bow.” Tony shot a winning grin at Barnes, though he couldn’t keep his eyes from dropping to the metal arm. Absently, he made a mental note to get his PR group to do some work with Barnes. Thankfully, the folks at Big Gay Ice Cream had recognized Tony and probably assumed the arm was something from Stark Biotech, but as soon as Barnes went out unescorted, people would start asking questions.

“Robocop?” Barnes asked blankly.

“Shit. Yeah, seventy years of sci-fi to catch up on.” And _that_ was a brilliant idea for their next ‘date’. “Okay boys, movie night, tomorrow. All you can eat popcorn and unlimited StarkFlix streaming.”

“Yeah, uh, modern movies aren’t exactly fun.”

Clint and Tony exchanged a quick look. “Not fun?” Clint asked.

Tony eyed Barnes a little warily. “Do I want to know what you think is ‘fun’?”

Barnes glanced up at the floor display. “Depends just how, uh, pansexual you guys really are.”

Tony shouldn’t have been shocked. He really shouldn’t have. They’d just spent two damned hours sampling the whole ice cream case at Big Gay Ice Cream, where the flavors had more innuendos than a frat house. But where the hell had he learned _that_ term?

“Uh,” Clint managed to get out, blinking at Tony as if silently asking for help.

The elevator came to a gentle stop. Barnes burst out laughing, threw his arms around their shoulders, and walked them both out into the spacious foyer overlooking the living room. There was no way Tony could escape the metal arm locked around him, so he staggered along and tried to look like this was all his idea.

Or _not_ his idea, because Steve — God, poor Steve looked like a kicked puppy, and Pepper’s words came back to Tony. He had to bite his cheek to keep from telling Barnes to lay off out of sheer pity.

“Hey, pal,” Barnes said extravagantly as they all crossed the foyer. He let go only when they reached the steps down to the living room. “What have you been up to?”

Steve tore his eyes away from Barnes with obvious effort and looked at the TV. Tony doubted Steve was big on _Project Runway_ , given how he frowned at the screen. “Just... watching.”

Barnes shot a dismissive glance at the TV. “Yeah. Got anything you’d _rather_ do?” he asked, throwing the words down like a gauntlet.

Tony’s heart skipped, because suddenly they were there, right there, do or die, at _that moment_. And Steve — Captain America, whose courage had never broken or failed him — stared up at Bucky with such _want_ in his eyes that even a jaded asshole like Tony felt it like a punch to the gut.

Then, radiating a sense of defeat, Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the floor.

Under his breath, Clint muttered something in Russian — something Natasha tended to say over the comms when the shit hit the fan. Then he smacked Barnes’ right arm and asked, “What would _you_ rather do?”

The _idiot_ went unspoken but came across loud and clear.

A second later, Barnes went down the steps and right up to Steve. Without super-soldier hearing, Tony had no idea what they were saying. He looked questioningly at Clint, whose hearing aids had gone through Tony’s lab for a revamp. Clint’s slow, smug grin told Tony all he needed to know.

And as Steve lifted his head, his expression going from despairing to hopeful, Tony turned away. Those two deserved a little privacy.

“Come on, Birdbrain,” he said, beckoning Clint. “Let’s hit the lab. Sugar always puts me in the mood to invent, and I’ve got some ideas for arrows.”

“Yeah? Better than your missile propulsion system, I hope,” Clint said, holding up his left forearm. “I lost my best armguard from that one.”

“Oh. Right, yeah. I’ve got a prototype improvement for your guard and glove, too. Fireproof.”

Clint laughed. “What the hell is with you and fire?”

At the top of the stairs leading down to the private lab, Tony glanced back. Yeah, he didn’t need to see the kiss — but it was gratifying to know things seemed to be working out just fine. Those two idiots deserved each other.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~~
> 
> I have lots of other Avengers fics, both solo- and co-written! Check out my works at <http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/works>.


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